


The Masquerade

by Heatherlly



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-10 16:20:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1161898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heatherlly/pseuds/Heatherlly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deep in the heart of Camelot, a powerful deception is woven by a man who's just a little too good at keeping secrets. An alternative to Episode 2x03, in which Merlin decides to take matters into his own hands rather than sending Morgana off to the Druids to learn the truth about her magic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I: The Summoning

**Title:** The Masquerade  
 **Category:** Het (Canon AU)  
 **Characters/Pairings:** Merlin/Morgana  
 **Rating/Warnings:** M  
 **Summary:** Deep in the heart of Camelot, a powerful deception is woven by a man who's just a little too good at keeping secrets. An alternative to Episode 2x03, in which Merlin decides to take matters into his own hands rather than sending Morgana off to the Druids to learn the truth about her magic.

 **Author's Note:** Loosely inspired by "The Phantom of the Opera."

* * *

#  **Part I: The Summoning**

* * *

The scars were only the beginning.

 _Magic of the soul_ , was how the book described the disfigurement spell, _wherein one must draw upon the damage within and pull it to the surface. Speak the words, utter them clearly and without hesitation, while focusing your energies on the mistreatment you've suffered throughout the course of your existence._

"Utanweard hearmcwalu!"

At first, he was only a panicked boy assaulted by memories of petty childhood insults, along with recollections of a mother who'd only ever provided the opposite of what he needed in this moment: pain, fear, isolation, sorrow…

But then he brought himself back to more recent times and the man inside him finally emerged, an eerie sort of resignation settling over his features as his smooth skin began to thicken and distort. It was there in his eyes as he slowly transformed – the deep, gut wrenching loneliness that was his sole reason for performing this particular spell.

"Then you believe me? You think it's magic, too. Please, Merlin, I just need to hear someone say it so I don't have to keep feeling like I'm imagining it."

No, he couldn't tell her the truth… and yet how could he stand by and do nothing? Even if she learned to control her powers and keep them hidden, what could be worse than living with the knowledge that the people she loved might very well put her to death if they ever learned her secret?

It didn't matter what Gaius said – how could he possibly understand the pain of being despised for the way you were born? For him, magic was a choice, one that could be nurtured or pushed away at will. He'd never know how much it hurt to be reminded twenty, fifty, a hundred times a day that simply being himself was an unforgivable crime in the eyes of the world.

But _she_ would know, left to suffer in silence for years if he didn't do something to help her now. Even worse, she'd be forced to listen to that sort of hatred coming from the lips of the people who might as well have been her own family. She wouldn't have a mentor like Gaius to rely upon, nor a loving mother to lend her strength when she needed it most. She'd be…

Alone.

Gritting his teeth against the sensation of a hot blade slicing through his cheek, Merlin struggled to keep his thoughts on Morgana, along with the deep conviction that had driven him to cast this spell. Morgana – innocent and kind, generous to a fault and more beautiful than words could describe. She didn't deserve…

He let out a gasp – not from the pain, but in response to the abrupt absence of it. And just like that, it was done.

That first night was the only time he'd confront his own reflection while wearing the disguise. He'd just wanted to make himself difficult to recognize, but the face staring back at him was hardly a face at all. Only his eyes were familiar – beyond that, the physical manifestation of his emotional pain was beyond description. Letting out a humorless chuckle at the thought that Edwin Muirden would've been downright handsome in comparison, he whispered an incantation that turned the mirror into something else entirely.

No, there would be no mirrors in this place, nothing to reflect the truth in the midst of so much necessary deception. Lifting the conjured mask to his face, he secured it over his distorted features before turning to inspect the dilapidated chamber.

There was still a lot of work to do.

* * *

It was three nights before Morgana responded to the call.

The first time she heard it was terrifying, the strange male voice in her head met by frantic screams, followed by a hasty explanation when Gwen had come rushing into the room. She sent her maidservant home early on the second night, having convinced herself that it had been nothing more than the product of an overactive imagination. After all, it wouldn't be the strangest thing to have happened to her as of late.

But then the voice had come to her again later that evening, leaving her to question her own sanity before a single memory resurfaced to put her at ease.

Mordred.

The Druid boy had spoken to her without words, and although this voice was different, certainly older, there was something oddly familiar about it. It pleaded with her to find the owner deep within the Citadel, at a location beneath the first floor she wasn't sure she'd ever even visited before.

_Morgana. Morgana, **please**._

Was this man another Druid? Thanks to Uther's latest decree, those who were under even the slightest suspicion of magic were being hunted like dogs in the streets. It wouldn't have surprised her to discover that one of them had taken refuge in the labyrinthine passageways beneath the castle.

_Morgana, I won't hurt you. I swear it._

How did he know her name? Well, everyone did, of course, but that didn't explain why he didn't address her by her proper title. Only those she was closest to had a habit of skipping the formalities.

_I just need to see you._

And then guilt overruled any further sense of caution. After all, it was her fault that these people were in danger in the first place… well, more danger than usual. Didn't she have an obligation to help this man if he needed her?

**Yes.**

But by the time she'd made up her mind, pale light was beginning to creep into her bedchamber and all was silent. And so she waited out the day, hoping against hope that the man would call out to her again when she finally retired that evening. Her distress was even more magnified when several newly captured prisoners were brought before the king that afternoon, then sentenced to death without a trial. She watched in helpless terror as they were dragged away, praying that the mysterious man wasn't among them. The alternative was unthinkable – what if her own hesitation had condemned him to a slow and painful death?

Two nights after she'd cried out in fear at the sound of his voice, she wept with relief when it materialized in her head once more. By then there was no question – she slipped on her cloak, passing like a ghost through the lightly guarded corridors.

_Where are you?_

Again, she questioned her own sanity as she willed the thought in his direction… until she received an answer.

_I'm down here, Morgana. Take the secret passageway behind the statue on the first floor._

She frowned in confusion. _Which one?_

_The one that has a large crack just below the knee. It's across from the…_

_I know where it is._

_Tap on its… its groin. Three times should do it._

Morgana did as he instructed, letting out a gasp of surprise as the statue glided aside to reveal a small opening. Casting a surreptitious glance up and down the empty corridor, she slipped inside. _How do I close…?_

But there was no need to ask; it slid right back into place behind her. _Amazing!_

It was becoming easier, this talking without words. Soon enough, it required no more effort than opening her mouth to speak.

 _I've never been down here before_ , she told him in her mind as she passed through the dusty, heavily cobwebbed passageway that was illuminated by a source of light she couldn't see. _I didn't even know it existed._

 _Few people do,_ he echoed back to her. _Just a little further now. When you come to the wall, take a right and look for the loose brick on your left side. It should be about chest level… erm, eye level for you._

 _How do you know how tall I am?_ A shiver of fear skittered up her spine, but it was too late to turn back now.

_I know a lot of things about you, Morgana. Most importantly, I know you're someone I can trust. I hope to prove the same._

Swallowing the last of her trepidation, she dragged her fingers across the smooth stone surface, on the verge of asking him for further instruction when her hand passed over a small protrusion.

_How?_

_Push on it._

_Nothing's happening._

_A little harder, Morgana. Try again._

Strangely enough, the reverberation of his voice sounded even more nervous than she felt as the wall gave a gentle shudder, parting to reveal an archway that led into…

She let out a gasp, her eyes wide as she stepped forward into the comfortable little room. The furnishings looked old, as if they'd been salvaged from some storage chamber that had lain untouched since the time of the ancient kings. And yet they were newly polished – table and chairs, wardrobe and washstand, along with a large bed that was draped with the sumptuous furs that had been used long before the time of silken pillows and brocaded blankets.

"I don't understand," she blurted out, her own voice sounding harsh and unfamiliar to her ears.

It was then that he stepped forward, moving out of the shadows to stand before her as he dipped his head in a respectful nod. He was tall and slender, clad in a dark cloak with his arms buried within the folds. But that wasn't the unusual part – she wasn't even aware of the hand she raised to her mouth as she peered up at his face.

He was wearing a mask.

It was nothing grotesque – on the contrary, it was crafted from an intricately carved piece of oak, fashioned in the contours of what could only be described as a perfect male profile. High cheekbones, a strong nose, lips that were well formed and almost sensuous… she was suddenly overwhelmed by the temptation to run her fingers over the smooth wood. Instead, she swallowed hard and took a quick step backward.

"I must seem strange to you," he said quietly.

"No, I…" But she trailed off, not knowing what else to say.

"I suppose you're wondering who I am."

She nodded mutely.

"And why I asked you to come?"

"Yes."

The man held out his arm, indicating the closest empty chair. "Sit down and I'll explain."

She stayed right where she was as she continued to stare at him, torn between fear and insatiable curiosity.

"Morgana, if I had any intention of hurting you, it wouldn't matter whether you were here at the table or over there by the door. It won't open."

* * *

Oh, he shouldn't have said that. They'd been doing so well…

"I demand you release me at once!" she shrieked, beating on the door with her small fists. "How _dare_ you…?!"

"Morgana, please…"

She whirled around, glaring at him with fire in her eyes. That was Morgana, all right – any trace of fear had been immediately swallowed by her righteous fury.

"Morgana," he tried again, holding out both hands in a helpless gesture. "I didn't bring you down here to…"

"To trap me?" she snapped, flinching away from him. "To scare me half to death? Even if you don't mean to hurt me, I _really_ don't appreciate…"

"Tospringe," he interrupted in a quiet voice. 

Morgana, who'd been shoving ineffectually at the door, stumbled and nearly fell as it suddenly came open. He reached out to steady her, but then quickly removed his arms and put some distance between them in response to the wary look in her eyes.

"I wasn't trying to trap you. The door can only be opened with magic. I… it's safer for us both."

She seemed to ponder that for a moment, then gave him a curt nod as she moved past him and dropped into a chair. "Well?" she said abruptly. "You're right – I shouldn't be down here, especially in the middle of the night. Someone could easily discover that my chamber is empty, so you'd better just go ahead and…"

"Did you send Gw- your maid home early?"

He winced as she gave him a suspicious look, relieved that she couldn't see the anxious expression he was wearing beneath his mask. Oh, he was mucking this all up. How was this ever going to work?

"How do you know I have a maid, or that I…?"

"I've lived in the palace for ten years," he cut in hastily. "I might keep to the shadows, but I see things. Hear things. It's not that I intend to eavesdrop, but…" He trailed off, pointing at the grate above his head. "Sometimes I can't help it."

Morgana frowned as he settled himself in a chair across the table. "Where does that lead?"

"The Council Chamber." It was a risk to make such a claim, but at the same time, it would go a long way in explaining why he seemed to know a lot more than he should have.

"So you overhear official business," she said slowly. "Sensitive information that could endanger us all if it got into the wrong hands."

He leaned forward just a little, reaching for the bottle of wine that was resting on a shelf beside his head. "Trust me, Morgana… Uther is a far greater danger to me than I am to him."

She gave him a long, measuring look. "Yes," she conceded after a moment. "I'm sure you're right about that. But if you know that, why…?"

Uncorking the bottle, he filled a pair of pewter goblets to the brim before pushing one across the table. The story he'd come up with to explain his presence had seemed plausible enough when he was on his own, but now… he only hoped it would be enough for her to believe as well. If she didn't…

Well, that didn't bear thinking.

"I was just a little boy when my family and I were captured," he started quietly. "My father and mother were Druids, as am I, of course. We didn't do anything wrong, I swear we didn't, but…"

She nodded, the skepticism in her eyes suddenly replaced by something that looked a lot like compassion.

"Upon the king's orders, they were both burned in the fires. I was supposed to meet the same fate, but… well, I don't know which one of them managed to do it, but I felt the ropes come free. I heard both of their voices in my head, screaming at me to run, to hide, and that's what I did. The soldiers were searching the lower town, obviously expecting that I'd try to get out of the city, but…"

"You came here instead," she finished for him.

"Yes. Everyone was gathered outside to watch the executions. It just made sense to run in the other direction, I guess. After hiding in storage rooms and back passageways for a few weeks, I stumbled across this place by accident. I've been living here ever since."

"For ten years?" She stared at him with wide eyes. "And you've never been caught?"

He shook his head with a smile she couldn't see. "I've come close a few times, but I've been lucky so far."

"But how do you…?" She gestured to her goblet of wine, still left untouched.

"Food and other things?" At her nod, he continued with a quiet chuckle. "Very carefully, but I manage well enough. I'm sorry, I… I guess it's technically stealing, but I never take more than I need."

"No, it's all right," she said softly, tracing a finger around the top of the cup. "I'd say you're entitled to it after everything you've lost, and Uther can certainly afford it. I… I just can hardly believe… ten years? Have you ever tried to escape?"

"No."

"I know you've been lucky, but surely you must realize how dangerous it is. If the king ever found out…"

He shrugged, reaching for his goblet before it occurred to him that he had no way to actually drink through the mask. "This is the only home I know," he told her. "Besides, it's not like I would be much safer anywhere else."

"But you have to be… well, doesn't it get lonely?"

"Sometimes. But that would be true no matter where I was. I don't know anybody, I…"

She leaned forward, reaching out to touch his hand for a moment. "But if you were out in the world, back with your own kind, perhaps, you could make friends. You could…"

"Maybe," he said with another shrug. "But I have no idea how to survive out there, while I do well enough right where I am. And anyway, this," he paused to point at his face, "might make it a bit more difficult."

"You were burned?"

"Yes, before I managed to escape. The scars…"

"Are not your fault!" she interjected with a sudden flash of anger in her eyes. "You shouldn't have to feel ashamed…"

"I don't," he said, not wanting to send her off on an unnecessary tirade. "I'm just not really comfortable with the way I look now. The mask might scare other people if they saw it, but I feel safer with it on."

"I think I understand," she responded, resuming the same quiet compassion that had been so evident in her expression before. "After what you've been through, the way you've lived ever since, no one but a fool or a tyrant would begrudge you anything that made you feel more secure."

Merlin let out a sigh of relief, having expected more questions where the mask was concerned, perhaps even for Morgana to pressure him to remove it. But then again, perhaps she _did_ understand – after all, she was in hiding herself, even if she didn't fully realize it just yet.

If it were up to him, she never would.

"I guess you're still wondering why I called for you," he said after a moment. When she nodded, he continued. "Well, I know what you've been going through recently."

The wary look was back. "What do you mean?"

"The nightmares? Setting your chamber on fire? Strange things have been happening to you, and you're frightened. You're terrified this means you have magic."

Morgana actually flinched at the word. "How do you know that?"

He pointed at the grate above their heads again, which he quickly realized was a drastic mistake when all the color drained from her face. She let out a gasp, raising one hand to cover her mouth.

"Does Uther suspect…?"

"No!" he said hastily. "No. I've only heard about the fires, and the physician has mentioned treating you for nightmares several times. As for the rest, I just… I sensed it. Anyway, it's not hard to figure out that the king's ward would fear the worst if such strange things were happening around her."

Morgana looked relieved, but only slightly. "But if you sensed it… and the way I can hear you in my head and respond… you're not the only one, you know. There was a Druid boy, a little over a year ago…"

"Mordred," he confirmed, then cringed. But she was too distracted to realize that once again, he knew more than he should have. She was leaning far across the table, peering into his eyes so intently that he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"Tell me the truth," she said, her voice so low it was almost a whisper. "Do I have magic?"

Merlin hesitated, the words bubbling up in his throat with an insistence he found nearly impossible to swallow. How much he wished he could just admit it, both for her sake and his own. To have a friend, a confidant, someone with whom he could share his secrets, his fears, the ever present loneliness he was forced to live with each and every day. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad for either of them if they had one another to lean on?

But no, he couldn't do it. Not only had he made a promise to Gaius, but the older man was right – she'd be much safer if she never knew the truth.

"No," he said quietly after a long pause. "You don't have magic, Morgana."


	2. Part II: The Subterfuge

#  **Part II: The Subterfuge**

* * *

"What?" Morgana stared at him in shock.

"I said you don't have magic."

She shook her head vehemently. "I know you've overheard things here and there, but you don't understand. I… I was staring right at the candle and it just burned higher and higher, and… there have been other things, too. But more than that, I _feel_ it. It's been there for a long time, I…"

Merlin swallowed his lingering uncertainty, pushed away the nagging feeling that maybe it wasn't such a good idea to proceed with this plan. It was too late; there was no way he could turn back now.

"You've been enchanted, Morgana. That's all."

"Enchanted?!" Her eyes were skeptical as she stared at him from across the table. "No, that can't be… you don't know how long…"

"It doesn't matter. Many of these spells can last for weeks, months, even years before they wear off or are broken."

"But if this is true, how? Why? To what end? What kind of enchantment could it be?"

He sat patiently as the questions were fired at him one after another. In this, at least, he was well-prepared with explanations, even if he was more or less pulling them out of thin air.

"Before I was brought to Camelot, I saw these type of spells cast among the Druids. As you may or may not know, there are some among my kind who don't have any magical abilities. To them, certain powers were sometimes granted… practical abilities like the means to conjure a fire, maybe, or the talent to conceal themselves when danger was near."

Morgana frowned. "But how do you know the difference? How can you be sure that the things that have been happening to me are only the product of an enchantment, rather than…?"

"Because you don't know how to control them," he said quietly, hating himself for the lie. "Those who are born with magic know how to use it, in the same way you knew from your first breath how to take another. It's a matter of instinct, not something that must be learned."

"I've never heard that."

His face broke into a humorless smile beneath the mask. "Forgive me for saying so, Morgana, but you've lived in Camelot for most of your life. How much of what you've heard about magic do you think is accurate?"

She let out a heavy sigh. "I suppose that's true. But I still feel like…"

"I know. Everyone does, whether they've been born with it, or just have temporary powers like you do. Magic gets into your blood, and even if the enchantment is broken, you'll never be quite the same."

"What do you mean by that?" she asked him cautiously.

"You'll always be more sympathetic to my kind. You'll understand us on a deeper level where others cannot. But you already know that, don't you? I've heard you speak in our defense, long before you believed you might be one of us. That's true, isn't it?"

"I… yes."

"You still don't believe me."

She gave him an apologetic look. "Not completely, no. I'm sorry, I just… well, why would anyone place me under an enchantment like that in the first place? You said the Druids did it for practical reasons, but it doesn't make sense that I…"

"Yes it does," he interrupted, leaning forward in his chair. "It could've been someone with ill intentions, who wanted to trick the king into believing that someone close to him had magic. Revenge, you know? Or maybe it was just someone who thought that if you had reason to believe you might be a sorceress, you'd be able to convince the king to lift the ban on magic."

Morgana snorted. "Not likely. Uther is…"

"I know. But not everyone understands how much he hates my kind."

"But why would they choose to give me nightmares?"

He hesitated, then relaxed as the answer came to him much more easily than he might've expected. "They aren't just ordinary nightmares, are they? Your dreams have a way of coming true."

She nodded.

"Someone enchanted you with the gift of prophecy."

"More like a curse."

"I'm sure it seems that way. But well, it makes sense that they would've chosen you."

"Why?" she asked, giving him a bewildered look.

"Think about it – you have a lot of influence over both the king and Prince Arthur. Maybe the person who did it was hoping you'd see catastrophes before they could happen, then use the power you have to prevent them."

Morgana let out a bitter laugh. "I can only imagine telling Uther to send out the knights to meet an invading army because I saw it in a dream. I'd be locked up in the dungeons so fast…"

"Maybe, but there again…"

"They wouldn't necessarily know that," she finished for him.

"Right," he agreed, relieved when she finally picked up her goblet and took a long drink of wine. She still looked skeptical, but at least she'd decided he was harmless to the point that she wouldn't suspect him of trying to poison her. That was good… he'd need her to accept his offers of drinks in the nights to come.

"Morgana?"

"Hmm?"

He was momentarily distracted as she chased a stray droplet of wine, a flash of pink tongue sliding with an almost torturous slowness across her lush lower lip. Feeling a familiar stirring beneath his cloak, he stubbornly ignored it, drawing a deep breath as he came the point of the entire debacle.

"I… uh, I can lift the enchantment if you like."

Shooting him a sharp glance, she nearly spilled her goblet as she set it back on the table. "How?"

"It's just a simple incantation."

That prompted a strange expression, one filled with both hope and trepidation. Hardly surprising – for all that magic was a terrible burden in Uther's kingdom, it was still part of the person it belonged to. It must've been like a soldier with a leg wound that had festered – despite the risk to himself, the thought of losing the limb was intolerable.

Hopefully, Morgana wouldn't prove to be so unwilling, accepting the relief he offered rather than fighting him tooth and nail every step of the way. Far from being left a cripple, she'd be free to live a normal life.

He wasn't fool enough to believe he could keep it up forever, of course, but if he could somehow make it last until Uther was gone and magic was restored to the kingdom, all would be well. Then it wouldn't matter if some stranger in a mask had lied to her in the past. She'd be free to seek out others of her kind, perhaps even Merlin himself, to learn everything she needed to know.

"I'm not sure," she said, gazing back at him through eyes that were filled with uncertainty.

"Morgana," he murmured in his most gentle, persuasive voice. "It's not your fault that you were enchanted, but it still puts you in danger. You know that. Why would you want to live that way when you don't have to?"

"It still doesn't seem like an enchantment," she said stubbornly, which was no more than he should have expected. "I just feel…"

"Then let me prove it to you. If you have magic – _real_ magic – do you really think that a wave of my hand and a few silly words is going to make it go away?"

She smiled at that. "Maybe not. But I… well, can I have a little time to think about it?"

He nodded, relieved that at least she hadn't refused outright. "I'll call for you again and you can let me know what you've decided."

"I… all right," she said as she rose abruptly to her feet. "I should go. No telling what time it is, and I'd like to get a little sleep tonight."

But just as he pushed his chair back with the intention of getting the door for her, she was already there with a whisper of "Tospringe." With a pointed look over her shoulder as it opened effortlessly, followed by a self-satisfied smirk, she was gone.

* * *

Morgana managed to fall asleep almost immediately after returning to her chamber, but her nightmares were vicious. He was in them all, the mysterious masked Druid, struggling to pull her away from any number of scenes that left her horrified.

It was his hand she scrambled for when she saw herself on her knees in the Council Chamber, pale and shaking as she stared up at another shadow of a man with eyes full of betrayal. No, she didn't want that to be her future… how could she? Meanwhile, her new friend promised safety, comfort, an end to these awful visions. And perhaps if they were gone, they would never come to pass at all.

But what did he offer in return? That was the frightening thing. Whenever she turned in his direction in search of an escape, all that lay behind him was a yawning black void that was somehow even more disconcerting than all the flashes of violence, of fear and unspeakable cruelty could've ever been. Was it simply that to give herself over to him was to face the unknown? Or was there some hidden menace behind his good intentions, some unknown threat she could feel but could not see?

In the end, Morgana came awake with a harrowing scream, opening her eyes to find Gwen's worried face hovering over her and the pale light of dawn pouring in through the curtains.

"Another nightmare?"

"What else would it be?" she snapped, irritated at being questioned about something that should've been blatantly obvious. But in response to the flash of hurt in the other woman's expression, she immediately made an effort to soften her tone. "I'm sorry, Gwen, I'm just tired. I don't mean to take it out on you."

That was met with an understanding smile. "It's all right, my lady. Would you like to try and get a little more rest? It's still early, and Gaius delivered more of your sleeping draught this morning. I'm sure that if you took some…"

Morgana shook her head as she sat up and reached for her dressing gown. "That won't be necessary. Just a bath, if you don't mind, some clean clothes and perhaps a little breakfast? It looks like it's going to be a beautiful day – I think I'll get out of this chamber for a bit and have a walk."

Gwen looked relieved, which was hardly a surprise. Only a few days before, Morgana had been in seclusion, too distraught to even leave her bed. Magic… the thought of having it had been distressing enough, but the realization that she had no idea how to control it either? She'd lain there for hours, tossing and turning in silent torment as she'd contemplated the manner of her own execution. Burned at the stake? Beheaded? It hadn't helped that those atrocities had been taking place in the courtyard below, pleas for mercy followed by agonized screams coming to her ears as if they were her own.

They would be sooner or later; there'd been no denying that. Whether by the gallows or the pyre, the chopping block or death by drowning, there was no escaping the fact that she was destined to die when Uther discovered the truth. What she hadn't been able to decide was what would be worse – the suffering itself, or the knowledge that it was someone who claimed to love her who was subjecting her to such an awful fate?

Only one thing had given her the will to rise from her bed amidst so much fear and turmoil – the need to know the truth, to hear it from some other source than the recesses of her troubled mind. Of course, that had come to nothing; after Merlin's refusal to even consider magic as a possibility, she simply hadn't had the courage to talk to anyone else.

That confrontation had been painful beyond description, but maybe in the end, it was for the best. If what the Druid said was true…

Morgana still found it difficult to believe that everything that had been happening was only the product of an enchantment rather than her own magic. Even though the explanations she'd been given made perfect sense, something still felt… _off_ somehow. This was reinforced by the tiny voice that still whispered that sorcery was embedded in her soul, as much a part of her as bones and blood and sinew.

But then again, the Druid had made a strong point – what did she _really_ know about magic? How could she be sure this wasn't just a trick of the mind, an illusion intended to make her cleave to the powers she'd been granted rather than rejecting them outright?

In the end, her decision was made before she ever left her chamber, making the long walk to clear her head rather unnecessary. But she wandered the corridors anyway, sending Gwen off with an extensive list of chores and errands so she could enjoy a rare day of solitude. There were no summons, no orders to report to the Council Chamber or other obligations to worry about. No, there was simply Morgana and her thoughts, along with a growing certainty that there was only one path to follow.

When he called for her again, she'd permit him to speak his incantation. If he was right, she'd no longer have to live with such a frightening secret. If he was wrong and the spell didn't work… well, at least she'd know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she indeed had magic.

Strangely enough, Morgana couldn't quite decide which outcome she was hoping for.


	3. Part III: The Seduction

#  **Part III: The Seduction**

* * *

Morgana's face was even more pale than usual, almost ghostly as he ushered her into the room. Without a word, she seated herself at the table, then fixed him with an expectant look.

"You've decided?" he said, though there was no need to ask.

"What happens if you're wrong?"

"I'm not."

She frowned, studying him closely as he poured a cup of wine and set it in front of her. "But if you are…"

Merlin reached up to rub his eyes, before remembering it was impossible to do so through the mask. He was exhausted – he hadn't even been able to grab an hour or two of sleep that morning since Arthur had risen early for an impromptu hunting trip. Following that, he'd been on his feet until well after nightfall, scrubbing floors, polishing armor, sweeping the armory, and mucking out the stables. It had seemed more like punishment than work, as if Arthur somehow knew he was up to something and wanted to make him pay for it.

Of course, that was just his guilty conscience talking, something he'd obviously have to get used to if he was going to go through with this.

"I'm not wrong," he repeated more firmly.

"But…"

He sighed, finding it hard to recall why this had seemed like such a good idea in the first place. If he'd just left it alone, he could be fast asleep right now. Hell, for all he knew, the spell might not even work – the book said it was capable of suppressing considerable powers if the caster possessed the strength of will to maintain it, but did he?

Well, there was only one way to find out.

As if sensing his thoughts, Morgana shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "Well, there's no use in arguing about it. Go on then."

"Ah, we should have some wine first."

She frowned. "I'd rather just get it over with if it's all the same to you."

Fixing him with an expectant look, she visibly braced herself, letting out a long, shuddering breath to calm her nerves. Of course, he should have anticipated this – Morgana wasn't exactly the most patient person he knew, and despite the fear in her eyes, she was one to face any challenge without hesitation. That worked in his favor in a lot of ways, but not this one… she had to take the potion before he recited the incantation, or the spell would never work.

"Morgana, you need to… that is, this will go more smoothly if you're relaxed."

"I'm perfectly at ease."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "You look like you're about to scream."

"I don't…" But then she shrugged, seeming to decide it wasn't worth quibbling about. Raising the goblet to her lips, she gulped down several large mouthfuls before setting it back on the table.

"Happy?"

He breathed out a sigh of relief. "All right then, that should be better."

It wasn't, of course; she was cringing as he held out his hand, her body trembling more and more noticeably with each word that fell from his lips. Her eyes were tightly shut by the end of the spell, cracking open to give him a wary look when he trailed off into silence.

"Is it done?"

"Yes."

"I don't feel any different."

He swallowed a rush of anxiety. "Well… that is, I don't expect you would. But…"

It was obvious she wasn't listening. No, she was staring intently at the candle in the middle of the table, her brow furrowing in concentration as she muttered under her breath. Meanwhile, the flame burned low and steady, not wavering in the slightest.

"It worked," he said under his breath, almost as surprised as she was.

But Morgana wasn't ready to give up just yet. Rising from her chair, she hurried over to the door, holding out her hand with a quiet command of 'Tospringe'. She repeated it once, twice, a third time, her voice growing louder and more bewildered as it echoed through the tiny storage room.

"See? It was only an enchantment, Morgana, just like I told you. You no longer have…"

"Try to speak to me like you did before," she interrupted in a stiff voice. "Say something in my head."

Merlin's face grew deathly pale beneath the mask. This was the one thing he hadn't thought of, that he would need the power to summon her without words in the future. The spell was a powerful one, of course, but would need to be repeated once a week, give or take a few days, if there would be any hope of maintaining it. No magic could be suppressed indefinitely.

 _Morgana,_ he thought hard at her, even while knowing it was a futile effort. _Morgana, can you hear me?_

She gave him a blank stare. "Well, can you do it? I just want to be sure."

"I'm doing it right now."

"But I don't hear a thing."

"Right," he said, pushing away another wave of guilt at the bewildered, curiously sad expression on her face. "That's because…"

"The enchantment is broken. So you said. Well, I suppose I can't be sure until I see whether or not the nightmares return. I… I should be going. I need to get some sleep anyway."

"Morgana, wait!" he called urgently as she pulled the door open.

"Yes?"

"I was just wondering… will you visit me again? I know I shouldn't ask, but… well, it gets pretty lonely down here, and…"

"I suppose it does," she responded, her voice suddenly soft and sympathetic. "It's a terrible injustice that anyone would have to live this way when they've done nothing to deserve it."

He nodded in agreement. "It would be nice to have a friend. That's something I've never… well, anyway, it would mean a lot to me."

"Perhaps it would be good for us both." She gave him a cautious smile. "But I'll have to be careful – I can't sneak down here every night. Camelot's guards might not be particularly observant, but…"

"Just as often as you can manage, that's all I ask."

"Fair enough. Good night… wait, I don't even know your name. I'm sorry, I never thought to ask."

"Emr…" he started, then thought better of it. "My parents called me Kynon."

 _Kynon?_ Where had that come from? Oh well, perhaps it didn't matter – it sounded nothing like either of his real names, which was good enough.

"Kynon," she said slowly, as if tasting the word to determine whether or not she liked it. And then she smiled, reaching out to give his hand a gentle squeeze. "Very well – good night, Kynon. I'll see you soon."

* * *

Anticipation, nervousness, hope, dread… it seemed impossible that Morgana would be able to fall asleep when so much was hinging on what would happen when she did. But eventually, her inner turmoil was overruled by sheer exhaustion. One moment, she was struggling to keep her eyes open, and the next thing she knew, bright sunlight was pouring through the chamber windows.

"It's gone," she whispered in disbelief. "It's really gone."

"What did you say, my lady?"

Morgana rubbed her eyes, blinking hard until Gwen's face came into focus. She was hovering over the bed with eyes full of concern.

"Nothing. I mean, it was just a dream."

"Another nightmare? I'm so sorry, Morgana – when you sent me home early yesterday, it didn't even cross my mind to pick up your sleeping draught before I left."

Morgana dismissed the apology with a wave of her hand. "What time is it?"

"It was nearly noon the last time I checked, and that was before I did the laundry. Well into the afternoon by now, I'm sure."

"Afternoon?!"

Gwen nodded. "I'm sorry I didn't wake you. I thought it best to let you catch up on your sleep so you'll be fresh for our journey to your father's grave tomorrow."

"Of course. Thank you, Gwen."

"You must be hungry."

Morgana flashed her a brilliant smile. "Famished."

It was only when the maidservant had departed that Morgana let her thoughts drift back to the previous night, trying to absorb the enormity of what had happened and what it meant. No magic, just an enchantment… Kynon had been right after all. Her emotions were still torn, lingering skepticism at war with undeniable proof, crushing disappointment mingled with intense relief. But for the moment, the latter was winning out – despite whatever mixed feelings she might have, at least she no longer had to live in fear.

* * *

"You changed your mask."

Merlin unconsciously reached up to touch the soft leather, taking pains to disguise his voice now that he could no longer rely on solid wood to muffle and distort it. "Yeah, this one is a bit more comfortable."

Responding with a tentative smile, Morgana took off her cloak and dropped into a chair. "I'm sorry, I wanted to come sooner. It's just been a hard week. We were attacked on the road, and my maidservant was kidnapped, and…"

"I know." he said automatically, then cringed.

"How?" And then she glanced up at the grate above their heads. "Oh, right."

"She's doing all right now?"

Morgana nodded, though her expression was sad. "She wasn't injured, thankfully, but… well, she's not herself right now. Whatever happened to her, she's taking it really hard. Sometimes it's obvious she's been crying, but I can't get her to talk to me about it."

The last thing Merlin needed was something else to feel guilty about, telling himself all over again that he'd done the right thing when he'd allowed Lancelot to leave without protest. Yes, Gwen would be fine – Arthur would take care of her once he got over his injured pride.

"It can't have been easy, being kidnapped like that," he finally said, pouring her a cup of wine. "She just needs time to move past it, that's all. I wouldn't worry – she's a strong person. That is, I mean she's always seemed that way from everything I've heard."

"She is," Morgana agreed, accepting the goblet and raising it to her lips. "One of the strongest people I know, and the most loyal friend I've ever had. I don't think I've ever been more frightened than I was when she was taken. To think that she might not come back? I was furious when Uther refused to help her, though I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised. If it wasn't for Arthur and Merlin…"

There was something strange about being brought up as a topic of conversation while he was pretending to be someone else. "Merlin seems like a… loyal sort as well."

"Oh, no doubt about it, even if Arthur doesn't appreciate him the way he should. You know, I feel sorry for him sometimes – Merlin, that is. He deserves a lot more credit than he gets."

"Credit for what, exactly?" he prompted, unable to help himself.

She smiled, setting her empty cup back on the table. "Well, he's not much of a fighter, but he's very brave. He's a hard worker, always kind, willing to do anything… well, _almost_ anything for a friend."

Just as he'd begun to preen under her praise, the last part of her statement stopped him short. "What do you mean by 'almost'?

A shadow crossed her lovely features. "Well, when I thought I had magic, he didn't exactly react well."

"What do you mean? Did he threaten to tell the king?"

"No!" She looked offended on his behalf, which was gratifying. "No, of course not. Merlin would never do something like that. He just… didn't want to hear it, I guess. It made me feel so alone."

"I'm sure he didn't mean to make you feel that way. He probably doesn't know much about… magic, and if you're his friend, someone he cares about, it was probably frightening for him to think you might be in danger. Denial wasn't the best reaction, maybe, but I think it's understandable."

"Yes, I'm sure you're right."

"And anyway, it doesn't matter now, does it?" he said brightly, wanting nothing more than to wipe away the last traces of uncertainty from her expression. "Since you don't have magic…"

"I never got a chance to thank you for your help," she interrupted. "I haven't had a nightmare in a week, ever since the night you performed the spell."

Seizing the opportunity, he recited the words aloud, relieved to feel that same transference of energy that had occurred the last time he'd spoken them. Getting her to drink the wine and the potion contained therein was the easy part – figuring out how he might be able to put voice to the incantation each week without making her suspicious was another matter entirely.

She smiled. "Right, that's the one. It's still hard to believe that it worked, but…"

"Are you glad it did?"

She looked at him thoughtfully. "It's a relief to know I'm no longer in danger. And yes, being able to sleep through the night is a luxury I haven't had in years. Yes, I'm glad. I should be. It's just that I feel the absence of it sometimes… I can't explain it very well, but it's as if there's something hollow inside me that should be filled with… something. I don't know."

Merlin swallowed a rush of guilt. "You'd been under the effects of the enchantment for a long time, Morgana. Now that those powers are gone, it only makes sense that you need some time to get used to living without them."

"Yes, I'm sure you're right," she said, then let out a quiet laugh. "I'm saying that a lot tonight, aren't I?"

He gave her a lopsided grin. "You won't hear me complain."

"You have a nice smile, Kynon," she blurted out after a moment, looking uncharacteristically self-conscious. "I'm glad you changed your mask so I can see it. It's strange though – there's _something_ about you… your eyes, your mouth, I can't be sure. But you seem familiar to me somehow."

Merlin shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Well, of course I do. We're hardly strangers anymore."

"No, I suppose not. But I… it seems as if I've known you for much longer than I have, as if…"

"I know what you mean," he interrupted, struggling to swallow his nervousness as he searched for a proper response. "Sometimes it's like that. You know, you meet some people and it's as if you've known them forever. And then there are others who will always be beyond your understanding, no matter how much time you spend in their presence."

"Like Uther," she said, not troubling to hide her scowl. "He's been a part of my life since I was a child, yet I don't get him at all. His coldness, his hatred…"

"Right," Merlin agreed. "You see? It's not how long you've known someone, but what you share."

"And what do we share?" Morgana asked him quietly.

"Hope. Compassion. The desire for justice and truth, the need to have a voice and be recognized for who we are. Our mutual lack of understanding for the things that drive men like the king, no doubt, and…"

"Yes. You're very insightful, Kynon. Seems surprising in someone who has spent so much of his life alone, but then again, I suppose it makes sense."

Merlin raised an eyebrow at her, though of course, she couldn't see it. "How so?"

"Well, it seems like anyone without the ability to speak would spend a lot more time learning to listen."

Silently, he nodded.

* * *

Morgana was swiftly coming to a stunning realization – she was attracted to this man. 

Was it the intriguing combination of mystery and familiarity, the feeling that giving herself over to him would be like hurling herself into the unknown, all while knowing there was a soft cushion waiting to catch her if she should fall? Yes, maybe that was it – she felt safe with him, which seemed absurd after only knowing the man for a couple weeks. But after all, didn't it make sense? He could have harmed her countless times by now, and he hadn't, not to mention that he'd put his own life at risk to help her. No, the only thing that wouldn't make sense at this point would be _not_ placing her trust in him.

And then another thought struck her, so enticing that she felt the color rising in her cheeks. Kynon had lived in solitude for a decade, only a boy when he'd been forced to go into hiding. True, he'd made a surprisingly decent life for himself in his hidden sanctuary, but what of all those things he'd never had a chance to experience?

It was a heady feeling to realize she could be the one – the _only_ one – to show him what it was to give and receive pleasure in another person's arms. And he would be hers and hers alone, without even a remote possibility that she'd have to compete with anyone else for his affections.

Yes, she could be the center of his world, responsible for every fantasy, every moment of passion, every ounce of devotion he was capable of. And for a woman who admittedly, had always been a bit possessive, that realization was far too tempting to put from her mind once it had occurred to her.

"What are you thinking about?"

Morgana jumped, startled from her thoughts by a soft voice and an inquisitive look.

"Nothing," she said hastily, rising from her chair so abruptly that it fell over with a clatter. "That is, it must be getting late and I need to be careful. I should be going now."

He nodded in agreement, rising to walk her to the door as he always did. "Will you visit again soon?"

One lovely thing about the mask was that it gave her an excuse to forgo the much more benign kiss to the cheek that might've been expected. No, she went straight for his mouth, lush and pink, his lips parting in a gasp of shock as she covered them with her own. Hardly realizing what she was doing, Morgana took advantage of the opportunity, her tongue sliding out to stroke his in a gentle caress.

He didn't respond at first, standing there frozen as she pressed herself against his lean body. But she felt it, thick and hard against the soft contours of her stomach, even as his arms came around her, holding her close against his swiftly beating heart. And then with little skill but a great deal of enthusiasm, he was kissing her back, groaning low in his throat as he buried his hands in her hair.

Morgana allowed it to continue for a few blissful minutes, surprised at how easy, how _right_ it felt to surrender to this man rather than lead the way as she'd expected to do. Inexperienced or not, he was a quick learner, eliciting breathless sighs and soft moans of approval from her lips as he deepened a kiss that seemed as if it would never end.

But then it was over, brought to an abrupt halt as she pulled out of his arms, giving him a wicked, if somewhat tremulous smile. Perhaps it wasn't the kindest thing to do, leaving him standing there with a desperate longing in eyes that reminded her of a starving man in chains with a sumptuous banquet placed just beyond his reach. But no, it was better this way… leave him hungry, positively aching for her, and then next time…

Next time, she'd expect to be thoroughly ravished from head to toe.

"Good night, Kynon," she said sweetly, well out of earshot before he'd recovered his wits enough to respond.


	4. Part IV: The Surrender

#  **Part IV: The Surrender**

* * *

It couldn't be real.

Pressing his fingers to his lips, Merlin stared at the empty corridor. He could still feel her, still taste her, all honey and spices and sweet red wine. But even with the memory of her body pressed against his and the seductive scent of her perfume all around him, he could scarcely believe it.

Morgana had _kissed_ him.

This had to be a dream. Yes, this was a fantasy just like the others… wishful thinking that could never be anything more. Morgana could have her pick of anyone in the kingdom… men with titles, riches, knights and high lords who were handsome and confident, never bumbling and awkward like himself. Besides, he was only a servant. Even if she'd been able to overlook that, the rest of the world never would.

Yes, he'd allowed himself to dream. But not once had he let himself hope those dreams could become reality.

So what had just happened?

This wasn't some distant fantasy. This was real. And as he recovered from his initial shock, he was nearly brought to his knees by another hot rush of desire. _Morgana had kissed him._

Well no, that wasn't exactly true. She'd kissed Kynon, the mysterious masked Druid. As far as she was concerned, Arthur's clumsy manservant had nothing to do with it.

Merlin wasn't sure how to reconcile himself with that.

* * *

She didn't return for almost a week, a situation that swiftly became desperate as he passed his nights in solitude. His conflicted feelings were difficult enough to deal with, but more than that, he was running out of time. The spell needed to be performed again within the next few days… otherwise, his crazy scheme would fall to pieces. He couldn't let that happen. Not now. And as much as he hated to admit it, his reasons were far more selfish than they'd once been.

Morgana… in truth, he'd wanted her since the first time he'd laid eyes on her. And this was his best chance – his _only_ chance – to do anything about it.

But it wasn't that simple, was it? Wouldn't it be wrong to encourage her attraction when he wasn't who she believed him to be?

_Yes._

Then again, it wasn't as if he'd be deceiving her… not where it really mattered. His sympathy, his kindness, his concern for her well-being? All of that was real. She might know him by a different name, but he was still someone she could trust, someone who cared about her and would do anything to make her happy. Wasn't that enough?

Maybe.

In the end, there was no point in torturing himself. Morgana had already decided what she wanted, and as soon as he saw the look in her eyes, he was lost.

* * *

Morgana slipped into the hidden sanctuary with a carefully plotted strategy and a smirk on her lips. The latter almost instantly transformed into a beguiling smile as she wrapped her arms around Kynon's neck, urging his mouth down to meet hers.

This was the first part of her plan – make a bold and decisive move rather than leaving him to flounder as inexperienced men often did in these situations. But it wasn't only to spare him, nor to avoid the awkwardly polite conversation that would've led up to this. She wanted him. Nearly a week apart in an effort to increase his desperation had backfired on her, far more than she would've expected. Waiting was no longer an option.

Inexperience was nothing next to instinct. Kynon proved that now, kissing her fiercely, never hesitating as his nimble fingers untied her cloak and eased it from her shoulders. His hands were everywhere after that, a low groan emerging from his throat as he realized what she was wearing underneath.

The flimsy garment – too indecent to be called a nightgown – clung to her in all the right places, rosy nipples standing out in sharp relief against the skintight, nearly transparent fabric. She expected him to remove it, but he didn't, which she was glad for as he blazed a hot trail of kisses down her body. There was something intensely erotic about the damp spots his mouth left behind, one shoulder strap clumsily torn, falling down to expose a single breast. This act was nothing new to her, of course, but her barely clad form somehow made her feel more wicked than full nudity would've done.

Strange… though she supposed there was a certain power in concealment, no matter how scanty that concealment might be.

And then there was no time to dwell on that, nor to think about anything aside from the blinding rush of desire that overtook her senses. She was pressed against the door with him kneeling before her, those long, elegant hands slipping under her shift, pushing it over her knees… inching it up past her thighs…

It was sheer anticipation that made her cry out the first time he touched her, because certainly, he had no idea what he was doing. His motions were hesitant, surprisingly gentle as he lifted his head to gaze up at her. What she saw took her breath away – his face was still fully covered by the mask, but it was all there in his eyes. Intense, almost desperate hunger, admiration that bordered on worship, overlaid by a touch of uncertainty.

 _How can I please you?_ those eyes asked her. She responded with a tremulous smile, bringing her hand down to cover his.

"Like this," she murmured, her voice low and husky, showing him how to rub his thumb over the tiny nub in a way that made her arch her back and shudder. "Yes…"

There was no need to show him the rest. She let out a throaty moan, pulling her hand away to tangle her fingers in his hair as he slipped two of his inside her. Cautious at first, he gradually perfected the rhythm, whispering her name in awe as she let out a shuddering cry and fell apart beneath his touch.

She was blissfully sated, but only for a moment as he rose to his feet and met her lips in a scorching kiss. The urgency was maddening, wild and desperate, like nothing she'd ever felt before. She needed him inside her. Now. There was a perfectly good bed a few paces away, but that was too far… much too far. 

Clearly, Kynon agreed. His heavy cloak was gone, his hands releasing her to jerk at the laces of his trousers. She caught a glimpse of him – long and thick and impossibly hard – and then he was lifting her up, pressing her back against the door as she wrapped her legs around his waist. She could feel the tip of him pushing into her, but then he hesitated, panting harshly.

"Morgana," he rasped out. "Please…"

Beyond speech, all she could do was nod.

* * *

Nothing had prepared him for this. Her body pressed flush against his, soft and trembling… her warm breath against his ear as she moaned in pleasure… her slick, velvet heat closing around him as he pushed into her for the first time. It was every moment of bliss he'd ever known or dreamed of, magnified a thousand fold. He wanted to stay like this forever, but it was too much… far too good, and yet there was something even better. It was building inside him… he had to have it and soon, else he would surely go mad.

He heard himself groaning in some distant part of his mind, shameless sounds of pure wanting as he drove into her like a man possessed. Vaguely, he knew he should slow down, pace himself and make it last, but he was past rational thought, far beyond self-control. Every fiber of his being cried out for more, and that was the instinct he followed to its inevitable conclusion.

And then the world shattered around him, reduced to spasms of pure ecstasy as he spilled himself inside her. He cried out, whimpering her name, trembling so violently that it was all he could do to maintain what was suddenly a precarious position.

Morgana seemed to understand, carefully disentangling herself and then taking him by the hand and leading him to the bed. He flopped down on his back as she snuggled up beside him, one of her small hands tracing lazy circles on his chest.

"That was…" he started, still a little breathless. "I'm sorry. I don't think I…"

She shook her head, pressing her fingers to his lips. "It was wonderful, especially for your first time. Trust me, I have no complaints."

He started to ask her how she'd known, but somehow managed to catch himself in time. Right. He wasn't Merlin. He was Kynon, a fugitive Druid who'd lived in complete solitude since childhood. Almost frightening how easy it had been to forget that – in the moment, he'd known nothing but Merlin and Morgana, how right it felt that they should be together this way.

But before he could think too much on that, there was another, more pressing thought.

"Are you thirsty?" He breathed a sigh of relief when she nodded.

As usual, the wine was the easy part. The incantation? He was still struggling with what to do about that as he took her in his arms again a few minutes later. She lay there quietly, uncharacteristically docile until she finally murmured, "I should go."

Inwardly, he panicked. "It's still early."

"I know, but I'm so tired. I can't let myself…" she trailed off on a huge yawn.

"Sleep then. Just for an hour or two."

"I can't. If I overslept…"

"I won't let that happen. Sleep, Morgana. I'll watch over you."

Her eyes were closed now, her body fully relaxed against his, but she still hadn't quite surrendered. "But you're tired, too. I can tell."

"I have all the time in the world to sleep when you're not here."

Of course, that wasn't true. These nighttime meetings of theirs, on top of the already exhausting amount of chores he had to do for Arthur and Gaius, were already taking their toll on him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a full night's rest. But as he looked down at her face, a small smile touching her lips as she gave herself over to slumber, it was worth it. Not only because it had to be for the sake of his plans, but because nothing, even desperately needed sleep, could be better than this.

As soon as he was certain she was beyond hearing, he lifted his head to whisper in her ear. Would it work? Yes… he could feel the magic coursing through him, even as the first faint traces of returning power drained out of her.

Once again, she was safe.

For several months, their situation was positively idyllic. There were a couple of narrow escapes, and of course, Merlin often passed his days in a haze of exhaustion. But the world they created for themselves in their hidden sanctuary only seemed brighter and more beautiful as time passed and the bond between them grew.

Neither ever spoke of the future – to do so would be to disrupt the careful illusion of contentment they'd wrapped around themselves. Merlin certainly had to be careful not to reveal too much, lest he run the risk of her discovering the truth. But that still left room for many confidences, dreams shared, moments of laughter, and tender whispers in the aftermath of passion.

Passion… following that first frantic encounter, the desire between them only grew stronger. Yes, stronger and infinitely more satisfying as they learned all the different ways in which to please one another. And without fail, Merlin always stayed awake in the aftermath to watch over his sleeping lover, whispering words of affection, followed by the protective spell she thankfully knew nothing about.

It couldn't last forever. He knew that. But for the time being, it was enough.

* * *

"Did you miss me?"

"Always."

Morgana smiled as she hurried into Kynon's arms, lifting her face for a deep, lingering kiss before reluctantly breaking away. "I'm sorry," she told him as he poured her a glass of wine. "I wanted to come sooner, but I was afraid to risk it. My maid…"

"There's been an outbreak of sweating sickness in the lower town, so she's been sleeping in the palace."

"You really do hear everything, don't you?"

He flashed her the grin that never failed to make her heart melt. "Eavesdropping is a good way to pass the time. Anyway, you don't need to apologize. It's only been a week."

"Getting tired of me already?" she shot back with a mock pout.

"I just meant… well, I'd rather have to wait than have someone getting suspicious. That's all."

Morgana frowned. In many ways, she felt closer to Kynon than she would've ever thought possible. But there were times when he'd respond oddly, would start to say something and then stop himself, almost like he was hiding something. It was enough to arouse her suspicions, at least until she reminded herself of who he was and the life he'd lived. It was only natural that he'd be a little strange sometimes – indeed, it was a wonder that he was as normal and well-adjusted as he was.

"What are you thinking about?"

She blinked, then gave him a guilty smile. "I was thinking… I was wondering how long we were going to bother with polite conversation before we wind up in bed."

There, that was a failproof distraction.

The first time was quick and to the point, both realizing that a week was in fact a very long time to go without certain things. But they made up for it with a second round, lingering over one another's bodies for what seemed like hours before Kynon finally knelt between her thighs, entering her with one smooth stroke.

Morgana had always had more passion than she knew what to do with. As such, she often preferred lovemaking that was fast and feverish. But Kynon had showed her an intensity of a different sort, one she'd come to love just as much when the mood was right – slow and deep, his eyes never leaving hers as he stoked the fires by slow degrees rather than starting off like a raging inferno. Usually, their coming together was about sharing control, but when he took her this way… it was the only time in her life she found herself willing to surrender completely.

And then at last, she was right on the brink, her fingernails digging into his shoulders as he gradually increased the friction between them. Moaning softly, she lifted her hips to meet his thrusts, burying her face in his neck as she gave herself over to pure sensation. Almost there… almost…

"Look at me, Morgana."

She met his eyes, deep blue and burning with desire, then toppled over the edge. Whispering her name, he immediately followed.

It was some while later, as they were lying together in a haze of lazy contentment, when she finally decided to broach the question that had been on her mind for weeks.

"You always want me to look at you. Why?"

Was it her imagination, or did he suddenly seem tense, almost wary? Either way, there were several long moments of silence before he answered.

"I don't know. I guess I want to see you. As much as possible. Your eyes… your face…"

She propped herself up on one elbow to stare down at him. "Not that I mind, but it's hardly fair."

"I… I don't know what you mean." That was a lie, and they both knew it. She'd trapped him.

Reaching out, she touched his mask, tracing her fingers over the soft black leather. "I want to see you, too."

"I told you when we first met…"

"I know," she said gently. "But now, after everything we've shared? I don't hide any part of myself from you."

"It's not the same thing."

"Don't you trust me, Kynon?"

He pulled away from her, turning on his side to face the wall. "Of course I do. It isn't about that, I just… I can't."

Morgana sighed. His secrecy bothered her more than she was willing to admit, but she didn't want to push the issue when it was clearly so distressing for him. "I'm sorry," she said. "I won't ask again. Maybe someday, when you're ready…"

"Someday," he echoed. The dubious tone of his voice was hardly convincing, but he relaxed after that, shifting onto his back again and pulling her into his arms. 

She made no further attempt at conversation, soothed by his strong, steady heartbeat beneath her cheek as she tried to reconcile it in her mind. Insecurity, that was all. He just needed time to realize she cared about him no matter what – that a few little scars weren't going to change anything.

Caught up in her thoughts, it was a few minutes before she realized he'd fallen asleep, the first time he'd ever done so in her presence. She watched him for a while, seeing nothing but the mask that lay between them. He was deep in slumber – so deep that there wasn't even the slightest twitch when she called his name, once and then again.

It would be so easy… and would it really be so wrong? Just one look. Then she'd be able to tell him that she'd already seen, reassure him that he had nothing to worry about. Surely he wouldn't be angry once he realized that it didn't change her feelings for him? After all, that had to be why he felt the need to hide himself in the first place. What other reason could there be?

Taking a deep breath, Morgana untied the strings and slowly lifted the mask from Kynon's face. She was unable to suppress her cry of horror when she saw what lay underneath.


	5. Part V: The Shattering

#  **Part V: The Shattering**

* * *

"Morgana, wait!" Merlin grappled for the mask, jamming it over his face as he sprang from the bed. " _Morgana!_ " But it was too late – the only response was a faint clatter of running footsteps in the corridor above.

How much had she seen? Was it only the disfigurement that had caused her to flee in such a panic? Or had she recognized him beneath the disguise, horrified by more than just his ravaged flesh? 

Either way, it was over. No more nights of passion, no more tender looks or secretive smiles. That alone was enough to leave him shattered, though losing Morgana's affections should've been the least of his worries.

Dropping heavily into the closest chair, Merlin reached for the half-empty glass of wine on the table in front of him. Just before he brought it to his lips, however, he remembered the potion she hadn't finished, realized with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that he hadn't performed the incantation either. Oh, this was bad. Very, very bad.

How long did he have? Maybe a week? Not like it mattered. Even if she _hadn't_ recognized him, he couldn't hope she'd come back to him now. And once the spell wore off, what would it matter whether he was Merlin or Kynon? He'd still be the man who'd used her, deceived her, betrayed her trust in countless ways.

Of course, that had never been his intention. Everything he'd done had been for her sake… to protect her, to guide her, and eventually, simply because he loved her. Maybe he shouldn't have let it go as far as it did, but after a certain point, could he have stopped it even if he'd wanted to? No… even if she'd never see it that way. 

Muttering a different incantation that had become all too familiar, Merlin felt the rough contours of flesh reshape themselves into smooth, supple skin. Silently, he slipped out of the hidden chamber, passing through the deserted corridors like a ghost.

* * *

Morgana ducked into the closest alcove, frowning as she recognized the lone figure who'd just appeared at the top of the stairs. Merlin? Why was Merlin wandering around the fortress in the dead of night? She nearly called out to him, but no… as curious as she was, she wasn't prepared to explain her own reasons for being out and about at this hour. Or why she'd been crying, for that matter.

Letting him pass undisturbed, she soon forgot he'd ever been there at all. All she could think about was Kynon, closing her eyes only to be met with a vivid picture of the disfigurements she'd seen beneath that mask. Why couldn't she have left well enough alone? Why hadn't she respected his wishes… and most of all, why had she reacted in the worst possible way, screaming like a banshee and then running away without a word?

Granted, his appearance had been… frightening. But now that the initial shock had worn off, she could only feel deeply ashamed. The scars were hardly his fault, as she herself had told him again and again. They didn't change who he was – generous and kind, funny, tender, passionate. He'd done so much for her, and what had he asked in return? So little, and still she'd betrayed him, disregarding his feelings just to satisfy her curiosity.

Curiosity? No, that wasn't it. Greed would be a far more accurate description. She'd wanted him – _all of him_ – so much that the thought of him withholding any part of himself from her had been intolerable. Spoiled, selfish… Arthur had described her that way on numerous occasions. But in this case, her motives hadn't been _completely_ self-serving, had they? She'd wanted to do it for Kynon as much as herself… to prove to him that what he looked like didn't matter in the least. 

Well, she'd done a fine job of that, hadn't she? 

Morgana sniffled, easing out of her hiding place and setting off in the direction of her chambers. As awful as she felt about what she'd done, she wasn't quite ready to go running back to him with an apology. Yes, better to sleep on it and give them both a little distance. Surely it wouldn't seem so bad in the morning.

* * *

After all those nights he'd spent with Morgana, hardly sleeping a wink before rising to deal with Arthur’s incessant demands, Merlin felt like he hadn’t had a decent rest in months. But now, even the comfort of his own bed did little to ease his exhaustion. All he could do was stare up at the ceiling, worrying what the morning would bring.

The worst possibility was that she’d recognized him, that she’d go to Arthur or even Uther himself in a fit of temper that would land him in the dungeons. Of course, there was some small relief in knowing she could hardly tell the truth without implicating herself. But Morgana was clever, even vengeful when she felt she had cause to be. All she’d have to do was tell the king that she’d seen him using magic and it would all be over. Arthur might try to intervene – Merlin hoped so, at least. But would that be enough to save him from execution? Doubtful.

On the other hand, would she tell if she _hadn’t_ figured out who he was? He didn’t think that was a possibility just yet, which was comforting. Morgana wasn’t cruel enough to expose him simply because she’d been frightened by his appearance. But what would happen when the spell wore off, when she realized he’d deceived her? She’d be furious, and for good reason. And again, she wouldn’t have to reveal her own secrets… she could just say she’d seen a strange man slipping into the passageway behind the statue and he’d be hunted down like a dog.

That was another dilemma – if she still believed he was Kynon, maybe there was a chance this could all be salvaged, that he could cast the spell in time and she’d never know the difference. He didn’t like to think his scars, however repugnant, would be enough to keep her away forever… not after the closeness they’d shared. But would she return to him before it was too late? That was the risk he’d be taking if he disguised himself and waited for her in their hidden sanctuary. She might come to him and all would be well, but it was equally possible that he’d find himself at the mercy of a host of guards who’d been sent to apprehend him.

Of course, there was no point in worrying about the outcome. If given the chance, he’d have no choice but to take it. He wasn’t giving up on her unless there was no other option.

* * *

“Your sleeping draught?” Gwen frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Would I have asked if I wasn’t?” Realizing how testy she sounded, Morgana made an effort to soften her voice. “Please, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. It’s just that you’ve been doing so well lately. I’d started to hope…” Gwen trailed off as she rummaged through the contents of Morgana’s dressing table. She turned around after a moment, holding up an empty vial with a sheepish grin. “Right, I’ll just go see Gaius then. I’m sure he has some on hand.”

As soon as the door clicked shut, Morgana let out a heavy sigh and sank back into the pillows. Maybe she was overreacting – after all, everyone had nightmares from time to time. It didn’t necessarily mean she had anything to worry about. Perhaps it was only to be expected in light of her recent distress; she still hadn’t had the opportunity to set things right with Kynon. First, she’d convinced herself that he wouldn’t be ready to see her just yet. Then on the second night when she’d finally worked up her resolve, there’d been an escape from the dungeons. Arthur and his knights had prowled the halls from dusk until dawn, making it impossible for her to reach Kynon’s hiding place without notice.

On the third night, she’d elected to take a brief nap before going to see him. That had been when the first nightmare had come upon her, taunting her with visions not of Kynon, but of herself, her flawless skin distorting into a mass of hideous scars. This was a manifestation of her guilt, she’d realized, but it had seemed… _prophetic_ somehow. Was this the future she could expect if she didn’t reconcile herself with Kynon? Or was it the fate that awaited her if she _did?_

Morgana tried to convince herself that these feelings would pass, but after the second nightmare, a third, a fourth… yes, she needed to see him. Perhaps if she was lucky, they'd be able to put this unfortunate incident behind them and start anew. He could set her mind at ease and she'd once again know the comfort of sleeping in his arms, the one place that held the darkness at bay.

Where was Gwen with that draught? Not that Morgana wanted it now, but she couldn’t go anywhere until her maidservant had been dismissed. Having succeeded in hiding her nocturnal activities up until this point, the last thing she needed was to give Gwen any cause to become suspicious. Cherished friend she might be, but the girl was far too nosy for her own good.

Morgana glanced at the candles still burning in their sconces, hoping Gwen would remember to extinguish them before she left. It was a bit paranoid since Kynon had removed the enchantment, proving she didn’t have magic. But she could never forget that awful night when she’d inadvertently set fire to her chamber. All because she’d gazed at a flickering flame, gazed at it until it had leapt higher and higher, and then…

Stifling a scream, Morgana broke the connection, snatching a pillow and leaping from the bed to beat at the swiftly growing fire.

“No,” she whispered a few minutes later, staring in horror at the pile of ashes at her feet. “ _No…_ ”

* * *

Morgana hadn’t come.

Of course, having been greeted by her usual distracted smile these past few mornings, Merlin knew his real identity was safe. That should’ve been more comforting than it was, really. Shouldn’t he be overjoyed that he wasn’t destined to burn at the stake in the immediate future?

Perhaps, though it was difficult to feel grateful for much of anything when each day seemed more dismal than the last. Arthur had been more surly than usual lately, still smarting from a harsh lecture from the king about lapses in dungeon security. But dealing with Arthur’s foul temper was nothing compared with Merlin’s nights, sitting in the hollow silence of the tiny prison that had once been a sanctuary for laughter and love.

It was too late now. Somehow he knew that, and yet something drew him back each night. Habit, maybe, but it was more than that, too. It was a life that would never be quite the same, best remembered here in the place where it had been transformed. A dream world… walls holding a phantom echo of her teasing remarks... traces of her fragrance, sweet and mysterious, still etched upon the pillows. He came here simply because it was the closest he could get to her… not the Morgana he passed in the halls, distant and friendly, but the Morgana that had been his. Open, trusting, passionate beyond belief. A dream indeed, one from which he wasn’t ready to wake up.

But that was inevitable come the dawn, forced to trudge through one day and then another and another, desperate to escape now that he truly knew what it felt like to do so. And perhaps that was what led him beyond the city walls on that fateful afternoon, begging him to do something, _anything_ , to rekindle some trace of joy within himself.

A whiff of smoke, insubstantial yet beautiful, was where he found his solace. He shaped it into a running horse that reminded him of her, wild and free, never fearful to venture to places unknown. And then he was hypnotized, lost in a vision of the future as he hoped it would be. Maybe after all, there was still a chance for them? Not now, perhaps, but when the ban on sorcery was lifted, would they not be equals where it truly mattered? Morgana would never know what he’d done in the past. He could be her mentor, her guide, perhaps in time, even her…

“Did you see it? The smoke, did you see it?!”

Jerked from his reverie, Merlin stared up at the woman, his stomach twisting in knots. Not for the first time, he reminded himself of the folly in thinking things couldn’t get any worse.

* * *

Treacherous bastard. Worthless, miserable, lying sack of horse dung. Why had he done it? Granted, she’d be in danger either way, but if Kynon hadn’t taken away her magic, hadn't convinced her she didn’t have it in the first place, she might’ve been more prepared for the Witchfinder. She could’ve spent these past few months learning to control her powers, maybe even gone to the Druids for help. But no, he’d insisted there was no need for concern, that all her problems could be fixed with a simple spell.

“Idiot,” she muttered under her breath, though this time, the insult was directed at herself.

“What did you say?”

Morgana blinked, then flashed a wan smile. “Nothing.”

Gwen followed the direction of her gaze, staring down into the courtyard where the scaffold was being constructed. “They’re not wasting any time, are they?” She hesitated, then said, “Do you believe it? About Gaius being a sorcerer, I mean.”

“Arthur told me he used to practice magic, many years ago, but…” Morgana trailed off abruptly as she came to an unpleasant realization. Gaius, too, had tried to convince her she didn’t have magic. She’d wanted to believe that this had been out of ignorance on his part, but if he’d been involved in sorcery in the past, wouldn’t he know how to recognize the signs?

“But surely he wouldn’t do so now,” Gwen said, interrupting her thoughts. “And even if he did, I certainly can’t see him conjuring frogs to jump out of people’s mouths, of all things. It’s absurd!”

“Absurd, perhaps, but that doesn’t make it any less true.”

Both women jumped as a third voice intruded upon their conversation, whirling around to find the Witchfinder standing just behind them. How had he entered the chamber so quietly?

“I’m aware that the king has given you unrestricted access throughout the palace,” Morgana said tersely. “But you could at least do me the courtesy of knocking before entering my private quarters.”

Aredian stepped closer, a tall, imposing figure in black with a tiny smirk playing about his lips. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but if I made a habit of stopping to knock, I’d be far less effective at my job.”

“What can we do for you?” Morgana said, biting back a sharp retort.

“I have no need of your maid. Only you. I’d like to ask you a few more questions.”

“But Gaius has already been tried and condemned!” Gwen interjected. “Surely you have no reason to…”

Aredian silenced her with a cutting look. “This is none of your affair. My lady?”

“Yes, of course.”

* * *

Exposing the Witchfinder as a fraud had gone brilliantly, though Merlin’s confidence was shaken to its very foundations. Maybe that was a good thing – one could never be too cautious. Gaius would certainly agree with that and with good reason, being as he was the one who’d suffered most at the Witchfinder’s hands. But another stark reminder of how dangerous it was simply to exist in Uther’s world? Not exactly pleasant.

As such, Merlin waited another week before returning to his hiding place, unusually paranoid and feeling like a fool for going there at all. He’d kept a close eye on Morgana, had seen the fear in her eyes when Aredian had threatened to expose every sorcerer in Camelot. Surely she wouldn't have looked like that unless her powers had returned.

So why was he here? What was he waiting for?

Her.

As soon as he heard the knock, a harsh echo that ricocheted throughout the tiny chamber, he understood. He’d known all along that she would come, just as he realized why he’d wanted to be here when she did. He wanted to explain, for all the good it would do, needed to speak in his own defense and reassure her that he’d truly had the best of intentions.

But as she stormed into the chamber, lovely eyes flashing, body trembling with outrage, words deserted him.

"Morgana, I…"

She spun on her heel to face him, fixing him with a malevolent glare. "Where the _hell_ have you been?"


	6. Part VI: The Sundering

#  **Part VI: The Sundering**

* * *

Trembling with fury, Morgana advanced on Merlin by inches. She didn't stop until she was standing right in front of him, so close he could feel the heat of her body through his clothing. It would've been so easy to draw her into his arms just then, but of course, he didn't, knowing the time for that had passed. He merely stared at her in silence, still struggling for a response when she hurled the question at him again.

"Where _were_ you?"

"What do you mean? I've been right here."

She sneered at him, a show of contempt that was obviously meant to disguise the hurt in her words. "You're lying. I came here last night, and the night before, too. You were nowhere to be found."

"Well, I might've stepped out for a few minutes to scavenge for food, but…"

"You don't even live here, do you?"

Merlin glanced around the room, his eyes coming to rest upon the bed. How many nights had he lain with her under those ancient furs? No, he didn't live here. Not really. But somehow, this place felt more like home even than the chamber upstairs where he'd slept these past three years. The shelves along the walls, conjured with his own magic... the tiny table where he'd sat across from her on countless occasions, patiently earning her trust, and eventually, her love.

Of course, love seemed to be the last thing on her mind just now. She waited, letting out a huff of annoyance when he didn't answer.

"So," she said, articulating every word in a low, menacing voice. "This was just a setup. You planned all this just to... take advantage of me? Well, I suppose I should be flattered that you went to so much trouble on that count, though that doesn't explain why..."

"It really wasn't like that, Morgana. I wasn't trying to take advantage of you. I just wanted to help you, that's all."

" _Help_ me?" she echoed, as if the words had been spoken in some strange foreign tongue. "By suppressing my magic? Lying about what I am? Why? Why did you do it?"

Merlin sighed, taking a step backward so he could lean heavily against the wall. "I thought you'd be safer."

"But what was the point? It was bound to wear off sooner or later. What did you expect me to do then? Or did it not matter since you'd gotten what you wanted out of me?"

"What I _wanted_ was to protect you."

She snorted, flopping down into an empty chair. "And I suppose getting me into your bed had nothing to do with it."

"No."

"No?"

"No," he repeated more firmly. "Whatever you think, Morgana, I didn't plan it that way. I knew you were in danger. I wanted to help you. Anything else was just… well, I never expected it. Maybe I shouldn't have let it happen, but…"

"You just couldn't help yourself?" she said, her voice tinged with bitterness. "Well, I suppose I can't blame you. Not for that part of it, at least. I _did_ practically throw myself at you, after all."

"I didn't see it that way."

"Right. How did you see it then?"

"We were attracted to each other. It was only natural that we would… you know." He shrugged. "I'm not sorry it happened. Sorry if you've been hurt by it, but other than that, I don't regret being with you that way. It was…"

"I _know_ what it was!" she snapped. "It was a lie. All of it!"

"No," Merlin said, shaking his head emphatically. "Not all of it. I care about you, Morgana. More than I ever realized."

"Then why didn't you tell me the truth?"

Suddenly unable to look at her, he focused on a spot on the wall above her head. "I couldn't."

"Why not?"

"It's… complicated."

"I'm sure I can keep up."

In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to tell her everything, so tired of a life filled with lies. He shouldn't have listened to Gaius to begin with. Should've told Morgana the truth about her magic. _His_ magic. They would've still had to hide it from the rest of the world, but they would've had each other, without any disguises or the inevitable disillusionment they were facing now. But of course, it was too late for that. The best he could do was tell her the truth as far as he was able without exposing himself in the process.

"I knew you had magic," he started, settling himself in the chair across from her. "I heard things, but it was more than that. I sensed it. Knowing how scared you must've been and how risky it was when you didn't know how to control your powers yet, I just felt like I had to do… _something_ , you know?"

She raised her eyebrows. "So all that business about 'people being born with magic knowing by instinct how to use it' was just…"

"Wasn't true. We all have to learn."

"Why am I not surprised? Go on."

"So I just thought if I could get you down here, if you'd let me cast the enchantment, it would make things a lot easier. It would give you peace of mind, keep you safe. And I…" He hesitated, then decided there was no harm in full disclosure. He'd come this far, hadn't he? "I could've made it last. I _did_ make it last, for these past few months at least. Just had to cast the enchantment every so often and it would hold."

Frowning, she said, "But I only heard you cast it that one time."

"I know. I was careful, didn't want you to suspect anything. Anyway, that's why it came back. The magic, I mean. After the way you left last time, and when you didn't return for so long…"

That seemed to cut through her anger, which was replaced by a flash of naked vulnerability in her eyes. Sadness. Remorse. She opened and closed her mouth, seeming as if she were about to apologize. Instead, her voice emerged as a whisper, soft and broken when she said, "Why didn't you just tell me the truth?"

"I couldn't. Can't you see that?"

"No, Kynon. I can't. If you had told me what you were really doing, that I _did_ have magic but that you could help me suppress it so Uther wouldn't find out…"

Unable to help himself, Merlin chuckled. "Do you think I didn't consider that?" He hadn't, really, but no need to admit that to her. "You _honestly_ think you would've been okay with knowing you had all this power and never being able to use it? Come on, Morgana. I know you better than that."

"I feel like I don't know _you_ at all."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "You know me, Morgana. Better than you think you do."

"Then who are you, really? Because I find it hard to believe what you told me before – that you've been living here in isolation for a decade or more. It doesn't make sense, Kynon. First of all, the guards…"

"Not exactly vigilant, if you know what I mean."

She shrugged, conceding the point. "It's more than that, and you know it. You see too much. You know too much. And I can't imagine that anyone would be so comfortable around another person after living in solitude for so long. Makes me feel like a fool for believing it in the first place, but…"

"You believed it because you wanted to. That doesn't make you foolish. Only human."

"I still deserve to know the truth, don't I?"

Merlin looked at her sadly. "Yes, but that doesn't mean I can tell you. At least, not in the way you're looking for. You want to know my name, where I come from, how I came to know so much about you. Right?"

"Doesn't seem like a lot to ask, especially after…" Her eyes flickered to the bed for the briefest moment, cheeks coloring with a faint tinge of pink. 

Merlin caught the reaction, cursing his body's immediate response. Abruptly, he cleared his throat, searching for the words that might make her understand. "No, it's not a lot to ask, but I still can't tell you."

"You don't trust me?"

"It isn't that. I just…"

"Tell me," she said, glowering at him. "What have I ever done to make you question my integrity? Out of the two of us, I have a far better track record for honesty, wouldn't you say?"

"You haven't done anything, Morgana. I _do_ trust you. This isn't about that. I'm just not willing to put both of us in danger, which is what I'd be doing if I told you who I really am." She opened her mouth to interrupt, but he held up a hand to silence her. "I'm sorry, I wish I could tell you. Would love nothing more than that, to be honest. But it isn't possible."

"Just open your mouth and say the words. It's not that difficult."

Merlin shook his head. "What I _can_ tell you is this: you _do_ know me, in all the ways that matter. I'm someone who has secrets, just as you do, secrets that could get me killed through no fault of my own. I'm someone who needed you, perhaps even more than you needed me. I wasn't lying when I said I cared about you, Morgana. These past few months have been like a dream. I don't want that to end."

He couldn't read her expression, but her intention was unmistakable when she rose and came to stand behind him, placing her hands on his shoulders as she leaned over to whisper in his ear. "Well," she said, her words emerging as a gentle caress that made him shiver. "Maybe it doesn't have to."

Realizing she had an ulterior motive did nothing to stop him. He was up in a flash, nearly tripping over his chair in his haste. Pulling her flush against his body, he heard himself moaning even before his lips met hers in a scorching kiss. Wanting, wanting, desperate for the one thing he'd craved above all else and feared he might never have again. There was no thought of tender seduction, only raw, primal need… their clothing was off in a matter of seconds, tossed carelessly aside as he pushed her down onto the bed and plunged himself inside her.

And then he paused, panting heavily, closing his eyes as he rested his forehead against hers. He wished he could stay this way forever, lost in the exquisite perfection of being inside her. He could live and die right here, locked in her embrace, never to leave this bed again. Yes, and he'd consider himself lucky to do so.

But then instinct rose to trump all else… stronger than sentiment, more powerful than the need to make it last if this was to be their final night together. He _had_ to move, and so move he did, panting, groaning, thrusting with a ferocity that would've taken him by surprise if he'd been conscious of his actions. His only reality was her… soft cries of encouragement filling his ears, sharp fingernails digging into his back, the way she writhed beneath him, seeming to pull him into her with every thrust as he drove deeper, deeper…

It could've been minutes or hours. He didn't know, nor did he care. It seemed like he could do this for years and never get enough of her, until suddenly, it was all too much. He cried out as his body spasmed, trembling from head to heel as he spilled himself inside her. Distantly, he was aware that she'd found satisfaction just before he did; she lay beneath him, limp and sated, reaching up to thread her fingers through his sweat soaked hair.

Shifting so as not to crush her, he laid his head on her breast, soothed by the strong, steady heartbeat beneath his cheek. What did it matter who he was or where he'd come from? This was _real_ , closer to truth than anything he'd ever felt in his life. Surely she would see that, too, perhaps be willing to set the rest of it aside for the sake of the bond they shared?

"What are you thinking about?" she murmured after a time, her voice still a little husky.

"You."

He felt her smile at that. "Care to elaborate?"

Lifting his head, he pressed a kiss to the side of her breast, surprised by the first stirrings of renewed arousal as she shivered. "How beautiful you are," he said, moving up to nip at her collarbone. "How much I want you." He planted a flurry of kisses along the column of her throat, then paused, his lips brushing her ear. "How perfect it is, just to be with you like this. I can't imagine needing anything else." 

She tensed, then let out a heavy sigh. "I know. I wish it was that simple."

"It can be, Morgana. Just let go…"

"I don't even know your name."

"Kynon," he whispered against her lips. "Just call me Kynon. It's as good a name as any other."

She shifted, putting a little distance between them. "But not your _real_ name."

"What does it matter? Where it counts, you know me better than anyone ever has. Maybe there are some things I can't tell you, but the rest of me is yours for the taking. Isn't that enough?"

Shaking her head, she gave him a sad look. "No. Not for me. Perhaps I could forgive the rest of it, but I need to know who you are. I don't know how else to trust you. And if I can't do that, what's the point?"

"Morgana…" It was on the tip of his tongue to just give her a name. Any name would suffice. And then he realized that it wouldn't. Morgana wasn't stupid. She had to know that if he was withholding the information, there had to be a reason for it. Passing himself off as some random stranger was no longer an option, and telling her the truth… could he risk it? No. No, in this at least, Gaius was right. The weight of destiny rested heavy on his shoulders, the realization that for his sake, hers, and for all those with magic, he had to make sacrifices in the present to ensure a better future for them all. If he revealed himself to her, how could he be certain that it wouldn't backfire on him?

How would she feel, knowing she'd shared her mind, her body, her heart, with a servant? And even if his status wasn't an issue, how would she feel when she realized that he'd coldly turned away her pleas for help on more than one occasion? Maybe they could reconcile all that, but could he take that risk? Even if he could, there was also her temper to consider. He'd like to think she wouldn't turn on him no matter what, but he had to face reality, too. Morgana had a tendency to act in the moment and regret her actions later. Hadn't he learned that the hard way after what had almost happened to Uther?

No… as much as he wanted to tell her the truth, there was too much at stake. Maybe someday, but not now.

"I can't," he said, his voice hollow. "I'm sorry."

Abruptly, she rose, turning her back on him as she hurried into her dress and grappled for her slippers. He was beginning to think she wouldn't speak to him at all, wouldn't even look back as she walked out on him. But just as she reached the door, clutching the handle so tightly her knuckles turned white, she whirled around, gazing at him with an unbearable amount of sorrow in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, too. I'm sorry you don't trust me. Because that's what this secrecy is about, whether you have the courage to admit it or not."

Of course, she was right, and that nearly killed him. He said nothing in response, just watched her go, his heart breaking one piece at a time with the sound of her receding footsteps.


	7. Epilogue

#  **Epilogue**

* * *

In the days, weeks, and then the months that followed, Morgana tried to adjust to the reality of being alone. Of course, she wasn't alone at all in one sense – Gwen was as sweet as ever, and Arthur could always be counted on in a pinch. But did they ever really see her? No… not the way Kynon had.

Funny, but she couldn't stop thinking of him as Kynon, even though she knew that had never been his real name. Maybe he was right… maybe it didn't matter either way. Sometimes she almost convinced herself of that, especially during those long, lonely nights when she awoke from her nightmares, wishing she could see his face just one more time.

 _His_ face, yes, scars and all. Sometimes she wondered if that was where she'd lost his trust – snatching the mask away without his consent and then recoiling in horror. Morgana wasn't a fool, having long since realized that it must've been a disguise and a clever one at that. Could he still have been so hurt by her actions that losing her had been preferable to opening himself up in other ways?

No. That was absurd. What cause would he have had to take offense if it wasn't even his face in the first place?

Besides, what she'd done was nothing next to his repeated violations of her trust. Lying to her about her magic. Casting enchantments without her knowledge. Being less than forthcoming about everything, really, when she'd only ever given him the truth.

And so as lonely as she was, as tempting as it might be to go to him at times, she didn't. If he couldn't give her this one little thing after she'd been willing to forgive him so much, what was the point?

In the end, perhaps it really _was_ fitting to think of him as Kynon. Who was Kynon anyway? A dream that had never been quite real, an illusion, a facade of so many things she'd wanted and could never quite claim as her own. Yet she'd been real to _him_ , hadn't she? The way he'd looked at her, seeing her for who she truly was… no, that part of it at least could never be denied. And the loss of it was what hurt her more than anything else.

She'd begun to believe she might never have that again, doomed to a life of secrecy and silence. Perhaps that was why she immediately felt a kinship with the woman who appeared in Camelot, dressed from head to toe in armor. Maybe because she was different, too? Hard to imagine that a woman who chose to live as a warrior would meet with a lot of understanding.

No, it was more than that… almost a compulsion that led her to the guest chambers that night. That strange instinct was how she knew, without having to be told, that the woman had magic. Yes, magic was the invisible thread that bound them, just as it had with Mordred, with Kynon, a soul deep recognition that couldn't be explained, merely acknowledged and respected. And it was that connection that explained why this stranger looked upon her with more familiarity than those she'd known her entire life.

The bracelet, too, was magical. Nobody needed to tell her that… not when she could feel the faint thrum of energy in her bones every time she slipped it on. And as her new friend had promised, she slept soundly, a deep, peaceful slumber that left no room for nightmares or past regrets.

Still, she dreamed of him, his voice echoing in her mind much as it had during the silent communications they'd shared before he'd suppressed her magic. _Morgana_ , he said. _Come to me. Please. Just give me one more chance to set things right, and I promise I will. Please…_

Sometimes the dream was so real that she could've sworn it was no dream at all, but Kynon himself calling to her in the dead of night. Whenever she started to believe that, momentarily awakened by the urge to go to him, the bracelet would work its magic, dragging her back down, down into slumber once more. When morning came, she'd laugh to herself, soft and bittersweet, convinced it was just a figment of her imagination.

Eventually, she stopped dreaming of him at all… and strangely enough, that was when she decided she had to see him one last time.

The night couldn't have been more perfect. Arthur and Merlin were away from Camelot, off to investigate some silly rumor about resurrected knights. Meanwhile, she'd received a message from Morgause requesting her presence in the Darkling Wood, which was ideal for two reasons. First, she'd have to slip away from her chamber anyway, and second, there'd be no chance of her ending up in Kynon's bed if she knew she could only stay a few minutes.

What was the point in going then? She wasn't sure. Perhaps it was nothing more than needing to put old ghosts to rest.

Wrapping herself in her warm velvet cloak, Morgana descended the stairs, breathing a sigh of relief when she didn't encounter a single guard. She touched the statue in just the right spot, ducking behind it into the familiar passageway. When she reached the door to the hiding place, she hesitated. Of course, he might not even be there, but what if he was? What would she say? Panicking, she nearly turned back right then, but for all the things she was, Morgana had never been a coward. She lifted her hand to knock – once, twice, a third time.

Silence.

"Kynon?" she called softly.

Hearing no response, she looked closer, realizing the door was slightly ajar. She pushed on it, lightly at first and then harder, frowning as the hinges squeaked in protest. It was as if no one had entered this chamber for years, but how was that possible? She'd been in and out of here constantly just a few months ago.

As such, nothing could have prepared her for what she found inside. She lifted her torch, gasping aloud as she inspected the contents of the dusty, cobwebbed room. Old suits of armor. Broken furniture. Piles and piles of discarded linen and other bedding. She saw nothing of the furnishings she remembered – this was nothing but a storage room, which clearly hadn't been used in decades. Had she entered the wrong chamber? No… no, that wasn't possible. She'd been here a dozen times or more, could've found this place in her sleep.

Had she imagined it then, dreamed up a whole different life that had never existed at all?

Bewildered, Morgana stepped backward, crying out as she stumbled and fell hard on her backside. She sat there dazed, only gradually realizing that her hand had landed on something soft, preventing her from skinning her palm. Lifting it for closer inspection, she sighed with relief. No, it seemed she hadn't gone mad after all.

Pushing herself to her feet, she tucked the mask deep in the folds of her cloak before giving the chamber one last, lingering look.

"Goodbye, Kynon," she whispered.

Strange, but she almost felt… _relieved_ as she fled from their former sanctuary, closing the door on him for good. Then again, perhaps it wasn't so strange. All she'd ever wanted was to be accepted for who she was, to be trusted enough to offer that same acceptance in return.

Why should she suffer over Kynon's refusal to give her what she needed when Morgause waited just beyond the city walls, ready to offer those things with both hands open?

~*~  
 **THE END**  
~*~


End file.
